Hiding in Sunlight
by Goblin Cat KC
Summary: Leonardo wakes up on the farm not knowing how he was injured. Worse, his siblings refuse to tell him. He struggles to remember the past few days while knowing this isn't the first time he's made himself forget. OT4.
1. Chapter 1

**Hiding in Sunlight**

by KC

**Disclaimer: **Ninja Turtles belong to someone else. Not me.

**Summary: **When the family begins to break down, the turtles draw closer than ever to protect themselves. Turtlecest. OT4.

Sunlight and swaying shadows gradually brought him out of sleep. That wasn't right. Electric lights pushing away deep shadows, that was what always followed sleep. Sunlight was rare and he never woke up to it, since the world above ground meant light and danger and never lowering his guard. But he heard nothing except birds and the wind rustling through leaves, so he wasn't at home and he wasn't in danger.

Still tired, he blinked slowly, not knowing how long he'd slept. As he pushed himself up, leaning on his arm and pushing the blanket to his waist, he groaned and shook his head once to clear it. His whole body felt sore, as if he'd trained for days without rest. His hands were too stiff to flex properly and bandages covered his right arm and shoulder, making it hard to move. He tried to open his right eye, hampered by more bandages over one side of his face, but he took some comfort in seeing faint light through the linen strips. At least he could still see from it.

He took a deep breath and looked around, confused to find himself in the farmhouse. When had he come here?

Dizzy. He grabbed the edge of the mattress and closed his eyes as the world tilted. He felt like the floor would tip so much he'd fall, but as he leaned too far to compensate, someone put their arm around him and held him steady.

"Easy," Donatello murmured. The mattress shifted as he sat down next to him, keeping a firm grip. "Don't move too fast."

His brother's voice was a welcome focus, a familiar sound he could concentrate on. After staying still for a few seconds, the whirling feeling faded until he could open his eyes again. He didn't try to look at his brother yet. Staring at the floor helped keep everything from spinning again.

"What happened?" he mumbled, dismayed by how tired he sounded. "When'd we get here?"

"We've been here for about a week," Donatello said. "You just don't remember waking up before, that's all. How do you feel?"

"Like I lost a fight," Leonardo answered. He blinked and tried to remember, but he only drew a blank. The aches under the bandages certainly felt like battle wounds. "Did I lose a fight?"

"Um, not really," Donatello said, but they both heard his hesitation. He winced and tried again. "It's a long story but it can wait for awhile. Right now just take it slow."

"Mike and Raph-"

"We're all fine," he said. "They're downstairs. If you don't fall back asleep again, I'll let 'em come up."

His head felt like it was full of fog that wouldn't clear. Leonardo shook his head once, wincing as the floor spun again and his stomach twisted. He knew something was wrong, something Donatello wasn't telling him, but he couldn't pick one question out of his broken thoughts.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Donatello asked far too gently for his liking.

A dozen nightmare scenarios played out in his head, his most familiar imagined defeats and potential losses to his enemies. He often couldn't help imagining what would happen if he'd lost the fights to Saki, to Karai, or to countless monsters. He dismissed them all and forced them out of mind. Since Donatello didn't rush him, he allowed himself to meditate lightly, thinking back to something before he woke up. He remembered the distant past, remembered the pizza and junk runs of the last month, but the more recent memories came in weak flashes.

Meaningless images passed by, blood on concrete, the mat on Splinter's floor, one of his notebooks, the tunnel that led to the surface. All of them were things he was familiar with. None of them stood out more than any other.

"I think..." he started, uneasy as Donatello leaned closer. "I was in Master Splinter's room. I remember him asking me to come in. That's it."

Donatello nodded to himself as if that made perfect sense. Ignoring Leonardo's look, he pulled the blankets spilling off the bed back over his brother.

"You don't have to go back to sleep," Donatello said, touching his forehead. "But you should try. You're still a little hot."

"Don't want to." Leonardo didn't know why he felt a sense of dread at the thought of sleep, but if he'd slept a week, he had a good excuse for staying awake. Better than to say he was nervous about drifting back into dreams. "Where is Splinter, anyway?"

"Home. Just us out this time." Donatello leaned over him to grab the pillow beside him, tucking it behind his shell before helping him lay down again.

Sighing in relief, Leonardo took the moment to relish shifting his body to another position. He'd never understand how sleep and rest could make him more tired than when he first lay down.

As he straightened the blankets, Donatello eased close enough that Leonardo could feel his brother's warmth. He was glad he could look away in exhaustion. For the past few years, he'd kept the growing desire for his brothers a secret. It took an extra hour or two of meditation, sometimes longer training runs alone, and sometimes nothing but sheer willpower to be around them without breaking. Every month, he found something new about each of them to dwell on, to summon up in his thoughts. Raphael's sullen yearning for the sky, Donatello's joyful playing with lightning, even Michelangelo's teasing that had them all snapping back...in quiet moments alone or in bed, he craved their presence and wished for more.

A sordid, diseased secret, but one he'd hidden for years, satisfying himself with nothing more than daydreams and quick sketches, penciled and then burned in the same afternoon. He planned on taking his base desires to the grave, if he was lucky enough to get a grave. He didn't think he could live with the disgust in his family's eyes if they ever found out.

So cold chills flooded his body as Donatello touched his face and pressed a small kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Frozen, Leonardo closed his eyes as his brother drew close, their foreheads touching. Dreaming, he must have fallen asleep, and this was a dream. One of the few pleasant ones. Oh please, let it last.

"I wish there was an easier way of telling you," Donatello murmured. "But this isn't so bad, is it? And I can't stand you not remembering and thinking you're alone."

"...what?" With his good arm, or at least the arm that didn't feel like it was about to fall off, Leonardo reached blindly and found Donatello's shoulder. Still a dream? He could touch him, he...

"We know how you feel about us," Donatello said. "We found out when-around the time you got hurt. It isn't disgusting or wrong, Leo, unless you think all of us are disgusting, too."

It didn't matter that he could touch him. Leonardo knew then it had to be a dream, a wonderful, vivid dream that would rip something out of him when he woke.

"We were afraid to say anything, just like you were. And then to find out we all felt the same..."

Leonardo could hear the tears in his brother's voice. He almost laughed to hear it. It sounded so real, so much like Donatello when emotion choked him into silence.

"I'm dreaming," he whispered.

"No," Donatello said. He drew back and held Leonardo's hand briefly before forcing it back down to the mattress, giving him a tiny pinch. "See, you're not dreaming. It's real. We didn't know, but we do now."

"How?" Leonardo shook his head, wincing when that made him dizzy again. "Did I slip somehow?"

"I...I can't tell you how it happened," Donatello said, frowning for the first time and shaking his head before Leonardo could ask again. "It's something you have to remember for yourself. You-can you trust me on this?"

The answer was easy. "I trust you with my life."

Donatello's smile returned. "I think we'll be trusting each other with our hearts from now on."

Too much to accept all at once. Leonardo blinked hard a few times, then realized it wasn't from shock. His body simply needed to sleep again. He started to rise, then groaned as Donatello put his hand on his chest, easily keeping him on the pillows.

"I don't want to sleep yet," Leonardo argued. "I'll think this really was a dream. And there are questions I-"

"You can ask later," Donatello said. "When you're awake more than a couple minutes at a time. Maybe I shouldn't have told you so soon, but I couldn't stand you not knowing something this important."

"No, you were right. I..." Leonardo lay back and stared at the ceiling, fighting sleep for a few more seconds. So many things he needed to know, he thought the frustration alone might kill him. "When I wake up, will you tell me again? In case I think it was just a dream?"

"I will," Donatello promised. "Or Mike or Raph will. We take turns doing this."

Leonardo nodded once, finally succumbing. He couldn't expect Donatello to spend the entire day at his side for a week or more. It was only as he felt his brother easing back and sleep rushed in that he wondered if this wasn't the first time he'd woken up to a kiss and simply forgot.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

Patchy images filled his dreams. The smoke of Splinter's incense, the televisions chattering in the distance, blood trickling down his face-Leonardo was glad when he woke up to the sound of crickets and the stairs creaking. One of his brothers must have just visited him and left again. He could have said something and called them back, but lay silent. He needed time to think.

So many jumbled thoughts turned over in his head. He was hurt, injured somehow. His brothers all knew his loved them more than as brothers. According to Donatello, they returned those feelings.

Maybe. He couldn't take the chance that the kiss hadn't been a dream. He would wait. If they really were that open about it now, then they would demonstrate it. Otherwise he would keep it hidden as he had for the last couple of years now.

With that decided, he felt a little more centered, enough to handle the next problem-why was he hurt? They often came to the farm to recuperate, so that wasn't unusual, but this was the first time they were there that he didn't know why.

Which led him to Donatello's unwillingness to answer his questions. It wasn't like them to keep secrets. They would never keep secrets from each other, not about something this important. What had happened to make him forget? Head injury? He doubted it. Something that physically traumatic would have left a severe concussion, and that would probably have killed him. So it had to be emotional. Perhaps someone had died.

Donatello had said Splinter was home. One of his friends, maybe. Were Casey and April hurt? Usagi? He didn't think any of that was right.

The bigger question was why Donatello couldn't tell him. That wasn't something his genius brother couldn't guess at. He seemed to know for certain that he couldn't tell Leonardo. Which meant that they'd probably told him and...he'd promptly forgotten again.

Leonardo sighed and watched the moonlight play on the wall, flickering around the shadow of tree branches. Not good. There was something he knew and wasn't letting himself know. He'd seen that in humans on the rare times when he and his brothers were accidentally spotted. People would lapse into hysterics and then convince themselves they hadn't seen four mutated turtles coming out of the darkness.

Although he understood why they did it, that kind of self-induced amnesia had made them look weak and he couldn't stand that kind of weakness. It grated on him to know that he'd given into that weakness himself.

What the hell had happened?

His first clue would be his injuries. He needed to see them clearly, especially the bandages over his eye and face. He needed a mirror.

He glanced to his left. Across the pillow, across an interminably long floor and through the distant doorway lay the bathroom. It looked so far. As tired as he was, he thought he'd sink heavily into the bed. But the curiosity ate at him until he took a deep breath, gathered his strength, and moved.

It turned out easier than he thought it would be. Like breaking wood or bricks, he simply needed to focus himself. Steady breathing kept him from falling dizzily again, and he shifted on the bed enough to slide off and stand. It was shaky going-he had to put his hand on the wall to center himself again, but with a little concentration, he found that he wasn't as tired or weak as he thought he was.

He paused. Had that been another form of his convenient memory loss? He had convinced himself he was weak so that he couldn't reach the mirror.

This was going to be trickier than he thought. This was a fight, but not against a tangible enemy like Saki. No, he was fighting his own fear.

Disgusted at his own mental deception, he forced himself to face the mirror. It was visible through the doorway, and he made himself look at the bandages, white without any visible blood, and the way his right arm settled against his side. His arm must've taken the most damage.

He couldn't keep leaning on the wall. The nightstand was in the way. Taking a breath, he lifted his hand and waited to see if he would fall. The room felt a little wobbly and he didn't dare look at the floor, afraid it would ripple underneath him. But despite a little disorientation, he covered the space between him and the door in a couple of steps and quickly grabbed the door frame.

His arm and head started to throb, and his legs ached with the sudden use, but as tired as he was, he felt strength coming back as he moved. He could stand in front of the mirror without feeling like he was going to tip one way or the other, and with one hand on the sink just as a precaution, he fully studied himself in the glass.

Faint bruising peeked out from under the bandage over his eye. Almost healed, it was a mild darkening under the white bandage, and with his good hand he gently pulled the gauze back. From previous experience with battle wounds, he expected dried blood and torn skin. Instead he found the wound clean and knitted back together, although the three long marks were clear against his skin.

He was lucky he hadn't lost his eye. Three strong cuts... He frowned. He'd seen cuts like that before, but Saki was dead. Only his razor gauntlets made marks like that, and Donatello wouldnt' have resisted telling him that Saki was back. Besides, Leonardo had taken his head off the last time and they'd disposed of the body themselves. No, Saki wasn't back.

So what was it?

He examined the marks again. There weren't even stitches or marks showing they'd been stitched. A quick slice, then, and one he'd almost dodged.

What of his arm? He pulled the bandages as far as he dared and found much heavier scoring. If he'd dodged the blow to his face, then he'd used his arm as a shield, taking the hit deliberately. He hoped he'd used the sacrifice to make a fatal, battle-ending strike. The marks here were deeper and longer, disappearing under the gauze, and he found the stitches he'd expected. The marks started at his shoulder and crisscrossed, and though he couldn't see them, he felt the scars pulling slightly whenever he moved.

Heated fighting, no doubt. Probably a quick fight, but quick didn't make them any easier. That had been a frenzied attack, maybe even a surprise attack. He hadn't defended well if he'd had to let himself take that kind of a hit.

The memory would come to him. He wouldn't stop trying to remember and eventually his mental guards would crumble. Until then, he'd keep it in the back of his head. There were other things to think about.

The bathroom was old though clean, and the wooden floor creaked if he wasn't trying to stay silent. Already he heard someone coming up the steps, but not in a panicked rush. If he'd fallen, they would've heard, so there was no need to race upstairs and save him. He took the moment to pick up the worn plastic cup on the sink, fumbling a little with one hand, and fill it with water, taking a long drink.

"Sorry," Raphael murmured as he looked in from the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Should've kept a glass on the nightstand."

Leonardo put the cup down with a sigh. "Nah. Made me get up. I needed to."

"You're looking better," Raphael said, giving him a once over. "Wide awake at least."

"How _did_ I look before?" Leonardo asked casually.

Shaking his head with a rueful grin, Raphael chuckled. "Nope, you'll have to try better than that. None of us'll tell you anything. You gotta remember for yourself."

Leonardo looked up at him. Raphael had an annoying five and a half inches on him now, and his growth spurt showed no signs of stopping. Annoying and reassuring. In a fight, it was good to have a tank on their side, and after a fight, it was good to have someone big enough to lean on or even one of them out. Not that he'd told him yet. He and Raphael were slowly growing less antagonistic, more open with each other, but this uneasy detente made speaking awkward sometimes. They were so used to snapping at each other and posturing, trying to come out on top, that everything they said seemed to call back old arguments. They often kept to short sentences, finding them easier to navigate without blowing up at each other.

"Was..." He paused. "Was it really bad?"

Raphael hesitated before answering. "Yeah. Yeah, it was."

That was all he would reveal, clearly refusing to continue. As he met Leonardo's eyes, he reached out his hand and cupped his face, running his thumb lightly under his big brothers' cheek. Both of them froze-they'd been closer before, nestled for warmth and after unbearable injuries made easier by being in contact. But this was different.

"Don said he told ya," Raphael said softly. "But maybe you thought you were dreaming."

"I still think I am," Leonardo said. He turned slightly but tilted his head at the same time, loathe to lose Raphael's touch. "How did you find out? I thought..."

"You thought you kept it secret?" Raphael said, more of a statement than a question. "You did. None of us guessed. We all kept it pretty well hidden, though me and Mikey were starting to get an idea with each other. But you...jesus, with the way you acted, I would of sworn you trained all those thoughts outta you."

"I tried," Leonardo said. He half shrugged. It seemed so pointless now. "I thought you'd hate me."

"Never hate you," Raphael said. He swallowed and his voice turned urgent. "No matter what. You remember that, okay? None of us'll ever hate you. We love you and we need you. You gotta stay here, okay? You gotta try-"

Raphael's voice thickened until he couldn't talk, and on impulse he pushed forward and kissed Leonardo. Much different than Donatello's, this kiss bruised and even hurt at first as their mouths crushed, and then the pressure let up as it went on and Raphael was reassured Leonardo wasn't going anywhere.

Relief, joy-he didn't have to hide anymore. He could give in. Leonardo felt a rush of feeling, like the world had slipped off of his shell and he could breathe again. He didn't even mind, as Raphael embraced him, that his brother had to lean down to meet him, and that Raphael held a touch too hard and pressed in on his arm.

But behind the relief and growing happiness was a hard knot of fear. Raphael had focused too much on fear and let a clue slip.

Whatever Leonardo forced himself to forget, it was enough to make him think they would hate him. Even if Raphael assured him otherwise, his own weak heart couldn't believe it. He didn't want to hurt his siblings. Maybe it would be better if he did forget and never remembered.

Despair settled in his stomach. He'd already tried not to remember, he was sure of it, and he'd failed.

"How many times?" he whispered as they broke apart.

Raphael didn't have to ask. He didn't move away, holding Leonardo and staring at the wall behind him.

"Twice," he said. "This is the third time."

"And you told me the first time," Leonardo guessed.

"Yeah," Raphael said. "You overheard us talking about it the second time."

"How'd I-"

"No," Raphael said, pushing him back at arm's length and shaking his head. "That's it. You remember it when you can. We ain't pushing. It's hardest on you. We'll wait."

Leonardo closed his eyes in frustration. Raphael's voice showed the strain. His brother was putting on a brave front, but his rocky emotions were obvious. This trip to the farm wasn't just taking care of a wounded sibling this time. They'd done that for him, for each other, before. No, something new and awful loomed over the house, unspoken, and they were struggling to keep it at bay. They needed him.

Resolve fired within him. He had no choice. To help his siblings, he had to remember what had happened, what he'd done. And then he had to survive the memory.

TBC...


End file.
